


Lemon Cake Thieves

by ceryss



Series: A Flower Crown [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Really fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 17:00:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1148565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceryss/pseuds/ceryss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of the same setting as "A Flower Crown." </p><p>Now eight years old, Princess Sansa requests that her sworn shield accompany her for some much-needed mischief.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lemon Cake Thieves

“Sandor,” a soft voice breathed down on him, and hair tickled his face. “Sandor, wake up.”

The Royal Guard snapped opened his eyes at once, and grabbed at the hand that was resting on his bare arm. Blindly he reached for his sword, prepared to cut down the fool that thought to take him unawares in his sleep. But the wrist he had snatched was too small to be an assailant, and as his eyes adjusted to the almost pitch black hue of his chamber, Sandor noted that the assassin was far too tiny as well.

Princess Sansa squeaked at his rough treatment of her arm, so he loosened it slightly. “Little bird,” he rasped, rubbing at his eyes and sitting up, hoping that it was too dark for the girl to see his state of undress. “What the bloody hells are you doing here? What’s wrong? Did someone hurt you?” The princess had never snuck into his own rooms before, at least not in the dead of night. Even sitting on the bed, Sandor still loomed over the eight year old little lady. He could barely make out the bright red of her hair that now fell to her waist, and looking down, he noticed she was barefoot.

“Did you have a bad dream, Princess?” Sandor asked, squinting to see if there was any wetness on her cheeks. At present, she seemed fine, no visible cuts or bruises to see.

The little bird shook her head and started to sway back and forth on her feet, the way he had come to learn that meant she wanted to say something but did not know how. “Just out with it, girl. A man needs his beauty sleep.” He smirked at the tired jape and set a hand on her shoulder to stop her rocking.

“Sandor...” the girl began, and then bit her lip to stop a giggle. Though he was exhausted and by all right should be irritated with the disturbance, Sandor could not help but smile when the child said his name. She was the only one that called him by it. Most others preferred ‘my lord,’ though he was not one, or ‘Sir,’ though he was not that either. If they were feeling particularly nasty or foolish, men would address him Hound. It was an ongoing joke among the people at court that Sandor was the Princess’s dog, following at her heels whichever way she went, and so they referred to him as such -- the smart ones did it behind his back at least.

He waited patiently for his little bird to summon up her nerve. Finally she looked up from the ground and asked with hushed excitement, “Will you come to the kitchens with me?” Before Sandor could press for an explanation, she continued, “Jon said that he saw the cooks making lemon cakes for tomorrow and whenever we have lemon cakes father only lets me have one, and I...I just wanted...”

The princess’s sworn shield chuckled deeply and he ruffled her crimson hair, earning her swatting hands. “Are you asking me to steal for you, little bird? How very... _unladylike_.”

That caused a pout, and Sansa crossed her arms in displeasure. “I am not asking you to steal _for_ me, I’m asking you to steal _with_ me.”

Sandor laughed heartily at that, but swallowed it when she shhhhed him. “This is not like you, Princess. What would the Queen say?” He paused a moment to let uncertainty skirt across her face before saying, “But I am not the Queen, am I?”

The little bird flashed a grin and squealed, grabbing his large hand with her tiny one and tugged him to the door. Sandor rubbed his eyes once more, pulled on a tunic, tied his breeches tighter, and allowed himself to be dragged along by the best part of his life.

The pair of them wandered through the castle, ducking behind corners at imagined noises and taking care to muffle their footsteps. She hid behind him when they came across a Stark guard on patrol, thinking herself very clever, though Ser Rodrik merely grinned and nodded as they went by. She made an effort to avoid all flickering torches and even avoided stepping in the squares of moonlight on the stone floor from the window.

Sandor wondered idly if lemon cakes could be a good incentive to get her to skip her sewing lessons, and then decided to try to have some of the treats with him at all times. After all, if the sweet desserts could manipulate the proper princess into sneaking out after curfew, well, what couldn’t they do?

When at last they reached the kitchens, blessedly empty, Sansa giggled and ran around the room, searching for her prize. When at last her eyes rested on the perfectly cut rectangles of lemony perfection atop the long wooden table, the princess waggled her hands out dramatically, as if unveiling a coveted jewel. “The lemon cakes,” she whispered with awe, and stretched up on her toes to grab one.

Sandor aided her by grabbing the entire tray of sweets and setting them on the ground, where she promptly plopped down and sat cross-legged to enjoy her feast. Taking one for himself, the Royal Guard settled contently into a chair by the dying embers of the fire. _This little rebellion is the most exciting thing that’s happened all week._ _And besides_ , he thought while biting into Sansa’s favorite treat, _I would’ve never gotten any of the cakes at the feast._

 

The little bird came to sit by his feet, dragging the tray with her towards the fire. “How many do you think I can eat without them noticing?” She asked between mouthfuls. Sandor grinned at the girl and made sure to remember the moment: the dainty princess, hair and face lit up by the muted red light of the fireplace, sugar glazed over her chin and her hands full of yellow cake, staring up at her scarred Hound with a twinkle to her eyes.

“I think,” Sandor began seriously, scooping up another tart from the overflowing platter, “that we should eat all of them. Come tomorrow, it will be a big mystery. Bards will write songs of the grand theft that took place tonight -- the lemon cake heist. How do you like that?”

The princess gasped and her eyes widened. “All of them, Sandor? Won’t father be very cross?”

“How will he know it was you? We were very secretive, if you recall.”

She considered that and nodded slowly. “That’s true. We were probably the sneakiest pair in the entire castle.”

He chuckled and nodded back at her, amused. Sansa seemed to think the proposition over before shaking her head. “But then no one else would get any. And that would make everyone else sad.”

 _Always so considerate_. Sandor snorted; had it been up to him as a child, he would’ve taken the whole tray and whatever else was saved for tomorrow as well. Sansa’s heart was far too gentle to be selfish.

“I think maybe just,” she yawned and wiped her mouth on her arm. “Maybe just two more.”

“Aye little bird, two more.”

The princess was halfway through her final lemon cake when she yawned once more and curled up on the floor next to the platter. “Sandor?” She questioned sleepily.

“What, Princess?”

“Do you ever have scary dreams?”

Sandor thought of the fire that often plagued his dreams, tearing through his skin over and over. He thought of Gregor’s laughter and his own weakness. He thought of the dream he had sometimes where he was too late to protect Sansa, and the fire got her as well. Those were the worst. But little girls need not hear such things, so he merely answered, “Sometimes, yes.”

Sansa closed her eyes on the ground, scrunching herself into a ball. “I have a dream sometimes that a lion is coming to eat me.”

“There aren’t any lions around here, foolish girl.”

She continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “It follows me around the castle, no matter where I run. Even Lady cannot stop him. But then you come and save me.”

Rolling his eyes at her ridiculous views of him, Sandor asked, “Am I your knight in shining armor then?” Though he mocked her each time she said something of the sort, one time so harshly it drove her to tears, Sandor felt a secret happiness at her distorted ideas of true knights, and that he was one of them.

“You’re always the hero, Sandor.” She murmured, shoulders relaxed and close to sleep.

“Maybe I’m the villain. Maybe the lion is the good one all along, ever think of that?”

Her reply was but a whisper, so close to slumber that she was. “Villains don’t love you. Or give you lemon cakes.”

Sandor watched her for a long time after that, her breaths evening out and her mouth falling open slightly in sleep. _How a brute like me ended up in charge of a girl as kind as the Maiden herself, I will never know_. Eventually, he placed the platter of remaining lemon cakes back on the table, and then returned for his princess, scooping her up into his arms to carry her back to her room. If the girl was so damned set on having him be her hero, he would oblige. 

 

The next morning Princess Sansa awoke warm in her featherbed to the sight of a single lemon cake on her bedside table. Under it was a note, written in big capital words because he knew she was struggling to learn her letters. Sansa smiled as she read: _I won’t tell a soul about the Lemon Cake Heist._

**Author's Note:**

> This story/series is also posted on ff.net 
> 
> Hope I made you smile at least once! :) Thoughts are most welcome


End file.
